


Forget Your Perfect Offering

by sonneta



Category: Fringe
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-05
Updated: 2011-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonneta/pseuds/sonneta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would happen if Peter couldn't go back to the blue!verse?<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget Your Perfect Offering

**Author's Note:**

> AU season 4 of Fringe (spoilers through 4.07).   
> Title from Leonard Cohen's "Anthem".

At 2:33 a.m. on a Wednesday, Peter Bishop disappeared from the house he’d been living in. It was easy enough to fall back into running, easier than Peter had expected. The FBI wasn’t stupid, but in this timeline, they didn’t know his history; they didn’t know how easily he could slip out of just about any situation.

No one in this world knew Peter’s history, but Peter knew an awful lot about this world that was still true, even without him in it. He knew where Walter would be likely to keep stashes of money and the easily-pawned valuables. Even though Peter didn’t have a collection of passports and credit cards in false names in this world, he knew exactly where he could obtain a few and how to connive his way into getting them cheaply.

Peter Knight took the 5:15 train from Boston to Washington, DC. Peter Pope flew to Florida.

_He was cautious about the machine, this time. He didn’t relish the thought of ending up in the hospital again - especially not in this world. So he did tests, made sure the machine wouldn’t repel him like it did that first time._

_And then, he had stepped into the machine - and nothing had happened._

Peter [no last name given] hitched a ride somewhere around 6 a.m. the next morning to Tennessee.

_He had tried again, of course. He’d run more tests. Memorized the drawings to the last inch. Asked this different Olivia for her help. Nothing._

If Peter couldn’t have the life he knew (loved) best, maybe he could at least have a life he remembered. But life on the road wasn’t the same as it once was for him. He found work at a warehouse and joked easily with his co-workers. He did the work and came home and he ate alone. He watched TV, he slept, he did it again the next day.

Peter Rook took a 4 a.m. Greyhound to Chicago. He flew to Utah. He worked in meatpacking, he worked in landscaping, he worked in construction.

_Walter still treated him like a Fringe event, at best. Olivia -- Olivia barely spoke to him. She started dating Lincoln Lee, and she seemed more comfortable in herself._

Peter Knight flew to New Mexico and did tours of the Pueblos. He took a taxi to Texas, where he worked on a cattle farm.

He lay awake in bed at 3:46 a.m. and realized that they weren’t even looking for him any more.

Peter Priest took a 7:30 flight to Seattle. He bought the cheapest car he could find and got it running in one afternoon. He drove to Noyo County, Washington. He stopped at the Hilltop Cafe.

“You divorced?” Krista asked as she delivered his coffee.

Peter looked at his coffee. “No. why?”

“Divorced men do that - rub their finger where the ring used to be.”

He took a sip, swallowed. “No.”

He stayed in town, different motel from last time. He got a job as a waiter at the Hilltop Cafe.

Peter smiled at Krista after his shift one night. “You make CDs for your regular customers?”

Her eyebrows raised. “Yeah, I do.”

“Saw you giving that old lady hers. How do you make them?”

“I base my tracks on people’s auras.” She smiled.

“Could you make one for me?” Peter asked.

“Tell me where you’re from,” Krista said.

“I’m from --” he stopped. “Not from here.” His smile was tight.

“I’m gonna need more than that to go on,” Krista said. “Where would you call home?”

“I’ve moved around so much...” Peter said. “It’s hard to say.”

“Well, Peter from ‘it’s hard to say’, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Boston,” he said finally. “But it’s not -- the last time I was there, it wasn’t really home any more.”

The next day, his day off, Peter saw the police car pulled into the small graveyard next to the motel. He wandered out towards Ann, not sure what he would say.

He stopped next to her, and read the gravestone. _Bill Ferguson._ He turned his head and swallowed.

“Did you know Bill?” She asked.

“Friend of a friend.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

“Do I know you?” Ann asked.

He shook his head. “Doubt it. I’m Peter,” he offered his hand.

“Ann Mathis. You new in town?”

“Yeah. Work at the Hilltop Cafe.”

More silence, but to Peter, it felt comfortable.

“You want coffee?” Peter asked. “I can get you some on the house.”

Ann looked at him and smiled. “Not trying to butter up the sheriff, are ya? Alright, let’s get some coffee.”

They went to the Hilltop Cafe, and Peter got them two cups of coffee.

Ann pulled out the pen Bill had given her. “Bill used to say to me: ‘There is a crack in everything. It’s how the light gets in...’”

“Yeah.” He paused. “Someone once told me that I would find my place. And I did, but then... I lost it. It lost me.”

She nodded. “That’s how I felt when Bill died.” She looked over at him. “But maybe, we just.... have to find a new crack.”

Peter smiled, but it was without mirth. “I was kind of hoping it would find me.”

That night, Peter went back to his hotel room and flipped on the TV. There was a knock on his door, and Peter frowned. Who even knew that he was here...

 _Olivia._ He opened the door, and there she was - blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, her shoulders hunched into her pea coat.

“Can I come in?” She asked.

Peter nodded, motioning her to the one chair he had, next to his bed.

“I thought you had stopped looking for me,” Peter said.

“The FBI did. And I did... for a while. But Peter, I... I lied.”

“What?” Peter asked.

“Remember when you asked me if I felt anything, in the dreams I had of you? Well, I did have feelings, Peter.”

“What kind of feelings?”

“Love,” Olivia said. “And it scared me, because I felt so... secure, except how could I feel secure when I didn’t even know you?”

“And you found me now because...”

“Because I can’t stop dreaming of you, Peter,” Olivia said. “And I want... I want what we have in the dream. I know you think I’m not your Olivia, Peter... but I want to be.”

Peter reached a hand to her face, and gently caressed Olivia’s cheek.

“Lincoln?”

Olivia chuckled. “He’s very sweet, but... we didn’t quite hit it off.”

“Olivia... I can’t stand to lose you again. Are you sure?”

Olivia moved closer to Peter, tipping her face up to his. They kissed.

“I’m sure.”


End file.
